


Adjustments

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Diabetes, Diabetic!Reader, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt, Illness, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 05:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Hiding an illness isn’t easy, especially when you’re still learning about it.





	Adjustments

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is written as a vague description of what it is like to have diabetes. I have type 2, so a lot of that is personal experience, although I’ve not had to have insulin pens so far. So, I’ve tried to write it in a way that people will understand the ups and downs that occur for all diabetics, while encompassing the true feelings of someone with diabetes. I’ve always felt ashamed because it is what people think of as a “fat” disease but that isn’t true in the slightest (I’m genetically predisposed and recently found out that medication I had been taking for years was a contributing factor in the development of the disease).

The whole day you’d felt like crap. It wasn’t really a new thing - you’d been feeling worse and worse recently, to the point that Sam was starting to notice. Every night, you called it quits hours before him or Dean and you hadn’t been interested in anything but sleeping.

Staying in bed minimized the risk of falling over during one of your more frequent dizzy spells.

And boy it was hard to find a doctor with no insurance, or at least, no insurance that you could legally use in the local area. Eventually, Sam had directed you to this practice, assuring you that a fake name would be fine.

“Miss. Everdeen?” the receptionist called out, glancing over the top of the counter at you, her pointed glasses giving her a look very similar to Roz in  _ Monsters. Inc _ . She gestured to the door across from the desk with one finger. “The doctor will see you now.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, dragging yourself out of the chair. You could feel the sweat on your lower back making your shirt cling to your skin and you groaned in disgust at yourself. It was getting to the point of constant misery.

“Ah, Miss. Everdeen,” the doctor greeted, using your false alias. While Dean liked to use classic rock as inspiration for his ridiculous agent identities, you preferred using characters from novels. “I got your test results back this morning.”

“And?”

The doctor folded his hands across his pad of paper, leaning forward with a kind smile on his wrinkled old face. He must have been in his seventies - there were more lines on his face that you’d find on a map. But he seemed nice, or that was your impression from the limited time you’d spent with him.

“I’m afraid it’s diabetes.”

You blinked a few times, unsure you’d heard him correctly. “Diabetes?” you repeated, your tone showcasing your disbelief. “But -”

“It’s okay, Miss. Everdeen. These things are controllable,” he commented, holding up one hand to try and cease your panic. “We just have to regulate your diet and you’ll have to start on oral insulin. If there’s been no significant change in your blood sugars within the next three months, we’ll have to consider putting you on injectable insulin instead.

“I-injections?” 

“Possibly.”

“But I hate needles,” you complained uselessly. Machetes, guts, gore, creatures of unimaginable horror you could handle.

Not needles.

“It’s nothing more than a pinprick,” the doctor assured you. “You’ll get used to them. You’ll need to test your blood sugar at least three times a day. If you can, keep a record of any lows or highs, identify triggers or times when your sugar is low. It’ll help you to recognize what things to avoid.”

It was too much information all at once. You slumped into the chair, staring at the kind old medic, shaking your head a little.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Miss. Everdeen. We can have this all under control.”

“Y/N,” you whispered. “My name is Y/N.”

The doctor smiled. “Y/N. There are several cases of people reversing the effects of diabetes altogether.”

“Okay.” The shock was still sinking into your bones. Leaning over, the doctor rifled in the drawer, pulling out several leaflets. He handed them over across the desk and you took them with numb fingers. “What do I do now?”

“Research. If you see Madeline at reception, she can provide you with the testing kit. You can get refills here every month. And this,” he scribbled out something on his pad, tearing the slip off and handing it to you, “is a prescription for the insulin. Does your insurance cover that?”

“I’m paying cash,” you blurted out.

The doctor nodded, pointing at the slip. “If you go to Walgreens on third, they usually have a very reasonable price on insulin.” You wondered how many times he’d directed people there - he really did seem like a genuinely nice person. “Don’t hesitate to make an appointment, Miss. Everdeen.” His eyes sparkled as you got up, almost in a daze. “Give my regards to Gale.”

Your cheeks burst out with heat and you grinned sheepishly, hurrying out of the office and back to Madeline-with-the-Roz-glasses. The doctor was chuckling away to himself, obviously used to treating clients without insurance and using fake names. 

Probably half the reason Sam had directed you to this doctor.

He’d wanted to come with you, almost insisted on it hard enough for you to give in. Now, you were glad you hadn’t. Explaining this to Sam would be mortifying. No doubt, you’d get a lecture on not eating the diner crap Dean brought home all the time. 

It would probably be better to tell him nothing. That it was just a virus and you had to take some tablets for it. You’d keep the insulin in your wash bag and he never had to know. The worst thing you could think of was Sam looking at you with pity for such a stupid disease. You didn’t need him motherhenning you.

The diabetes would get better. Maybe Cas could heal it, if he ever came around again. Maybe you could reverse it, like the doctor said.

Sam didn’t need to know. Neither of the Winchesters did. You’d deal with it on your own.

Simple.

Right?

*****

The pack that the doctor had given you was full of helpful pamphlets and information that was readily available online. You couldn’t take all of it home - Sam would eventually find it. Instead, you plucked out the really important parts, storing the little machine in the trunk of your car, and tossing the rest. 

Among the leaflets you kept was a food list.

“Guess I’m going to the grocery store,” you muttered, irritated as you climbed into the driver’s seat. You knew full well that the fridge at the bunker was full of crap since Dean did the last supply run, so you needed actual food before you made your condition any worse.

Lucky for you, the local grocery store was practically empty when you pulled up, only five or so other cars in the lot. Within fifteen minutes, you had a cart full of fresh fruits and vegetables, along with some other ingredients to cook a few healthy meals at home.

You just had to avoid any diners on hunts. If it was unavoidable, you’d pick the salad, even if it was likely to have just as much grease in it.

Finishing up at the grocery store, you loaded up the car, heading toward the pharmacy for your last stop. It was stupid to feel embarrassed but that didn’t stop you avoiding eye contact with the pharmacist when she handed over the small bag containing your medication.

The boys were awake when you got back to the bunker, hiding your meds and the little testing kit in the darkest corner of your trunk. 

“Hey,” Sam greeted, frowning at the bags. “Shopping?”

“Supplies,” you replied, arms too full to stop. “Heavy supplies.”

“Need a hand?”

“I’m good!” you called over your shoulder, making a beeline for the kitchen. He didn’t follow, much to your relief, but you weren’t undisturbed for long. Dean entered halfway through your unpacking, disgust on his face when he went for the bag and found nothing but greenery.

“Sam said you had supplies,” he muttered, pulling out a bunch of carrots so fresh, there was still dirt on them. “This isn’t food.”

Snatching the carrots out of his grasp, you scowled at him. “We could all do with a better diet.”

Dean stared at you like you’d just informed him that Baby was wrapped around a tree. “I eat good.”

“No, you really don’t,” you retorted, heading to the fridge with the bag of fresh vegetables. “I’m gonna be cooking tonight. So no snacking.” Standing upright, you glared at him, and he swallowed nervously. “I mean it.”

There was a box of donuts on the middle shelf, at least a week old. You grabbed them, turning to toss them into the bin.

Dean made a sound like a wounded dog.

“They were still good.”

“They were sugar.  _ Stale _ sugar. If you’re gonna eat donuts, they should at least be edible.”

“Did you buy donuts?” he asked, hopefully.

You shook your head and he groaned, covering his face with his hands. Sam chose that moment to enter the room, looking at his brother in amusement. “What did you do?” he asked, directing the question at you.

“Threatened to feed him healthy food,” you shrugged, turning your back to them, “and he’s acting like a child.” Your bad mood was enough to make Sam frown and he moved a little closer, ignoring the older man.

“Everything okay?” His inquiry was soft and he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you lied, smiling at him through gritted teeth. “Just had a busy morning.”

Sam’s concern didn’t wane in the slightest. “You went out pretty early.”

“Errands.” Your quipped response didn’t seem to appease him. “I had a doctor’s appointment. For, er, girl stuff. Y’know -” Lowering your voice, you glanced at Dean, hoping it would be enough for them to drop the subject. Dean’s eyes went wide, mimicking his brother’s.

“I’m gonna -” He pointed at the door and quickly made his exit. Stepping out of Sam’s embrace, you returned to putting the food away.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay?” Sam pressed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he watched you. “You seem off.”

You bent down to the bottom of the fridge, packing everything in as neatly as you could. Sam couldn’t see your face, and you scowled, unaccustomed to lying to him. It was likely he’d understand but that little voice in the back of your head kept taunting you.

“Just tired.” Forcing a smile onto your face, you stood up, hoping he’d leave it there. “I’m gonna get started on dinner.”

Sam’s lips twitched upward in a smile. “Need any help?”

You brightened, knowing that spending a little time doing something normal would probably be good for you. “I’d love that.”

*****

“Okay, I give.” Dean leaned back, one hand on his stomach, the other still holding a forkful of steak. “Home-cooked is awesome. Your cooking,” he shook his head, unwilling to give up on the slab of beef, “is awesome.”

Grinning at him, you tipped your head slightly. “Why, thank you.”

“That was delicious,” Sam murmured, placing a hand on your thigh. Your cheeks heated as you glanced in his direction, his fingers pressing into the flesh of your leg ever-so-gently. “Haven’t eaten that well in weeks.”

“Is this gonna be a permanent thing?” Dean asked, hope on his face. “Because I can get behind it.”

“Obviously not steak every night,” you replied. “But I’ve been looking for recipes online.” It was a lie - you’d made plans to do just that but as of yet, you were still figuring out the stove. The Men Of Letters apparently didn’t believe in modern cooking utensils, so you were left learning how to use the ancient gas stove.

You hadn’t actually discovered where the gas came from yet.

“Don’t go getting too adventurous,” Sam warned. “Dean’s allergic to healthy.”

“Hey!” Dean defended, although there was a knowing smile on his face. “I can still eat donuts. Just not so opposed to Y/N expanding her culinary skills. Maybe to desserts?” he suggested and you giggled, patting Sam’s leg. 

“We’ll see.” You got to your feet, collecting the plates - Sam frowned, placing his hand over yours before you could take them away. “Sam -”

“You cooked,” he scolded. “We’ll clean.”

“You helped,” you argued but he shook his head, taking the dishes from your grasp. “Sam -”

“Don’t argue.” He cut you off.

A scowl creased your forehead. “You cooked too!”

“I barely did anything except chop carrots,” Sam chuckled, running his free hand down your back, stopping to cup your ass. “Don’t worry,” he glanced at Dean with a smirk, “I’ll make Dean do most of it.” The elder Winchester glared at him, affronted at his brother’s intent. “Why don’t you go have a bath or something?”

You still weren’t sure, feeling guilty for leaving them to clean up. Sam lowered the dishes back to the table, stepping a little closer.

“Go,” he urged, patting your rump lightly. “Promise I won’t be long.”

Turning slowly, you flashed him a coy smile, leaving the room and heading to the bedroom. Sam’s suggestion of a bath wasn’t actually a bad idea. But you needed to do your first check and take your insulin first.

Deciding to do that while the boys were distracted, you carried on past the bedrooms, heading for the garage. The trunk of your car probably wasn’t the best place to store it but it was the only place you could think of where Sam wouldn’t accidentally find it.

Using the lance didn’t hurt as much as you’d expected. The tiny drop of blood welled up on your fingertip and you scraped it onto the testing strip, sliding it into the machine. While you waited, you pulled out the paperwork that listed the good and bad levels you’d need to memorize.

“Oh,” you muttered, frowning as you realized you’d tested too soon after eating.

The meter beeped and flashed 11.3 on the screen, a high reading but you had only just eaten. You grunted in irritation, pulling the strip free and tossing it into the trash bag you should have taken out of the car about a week ago. The meter went back in the box and you grabbed your medication, knowing you’d have to take it soon.

Slipping two tablets from the box, you swallowed them dry, grimacing at the taste. Closing the trunk, you headed back to the bedroom, grabbing your things for a bath.

“Hey,” Sam greeted, walking into the bedroom before you’d finished. “I thought you were having a bath?”

“I got caught up in an article online,” you replied quickly, pleased with your own cover. “Gonna go run one now.”

“Want some company?” he suggested, a smirk you recognized on his face. You smiled a little forlornly, shaking your head, hurting when you saw the disappointment spread across his handsome features. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern in his tone.

“I’m fine,” you promised, lying through your teeth as you stepped up onto tiptoes and kissed him. “Just not in the mood.”

Sam nodded, touching your shoulder gently. “As long as you’re sure. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

God, you wished you weren’t such a pussy. But to have him look at you with pity when he found out… 

“I know,” you whispered, giving him a disarming smile before turning on your heel. Maybe the bath would clear your head.

Maybe.

*****

It took a while to get the hang of remembering to test your glucose levels in the morning and after meals. Neither of the brothers seemed to notice when you disappeared and you stopped coming up with excuses when you realized they didn’t keep track of you as closely as your paranoia told you they did.

Nevertheless, you felt like you’d managed to at least start getting a grip on your condition. The hardest part was not eating whatever you wanted whenever you wanted - no more midnight bowls of mint-choc-chip ice cream or bags of Cheetos.

But there were positives to the changes you’d been making. Cooking was becoming a hobby, and a challenge, where it came to Dean at least, who still preferred ordering a pizza to waiting on a freshly prepared meal. 

Sneaking vegetables into his food had turned into a game and Sam delighted at the inventive ways you’d been coming up with.

“Hey,” Sam called, entering the garage when you least expected, right when you’d been testing your blood after your lunch. Hastily, you shoved the kit into the trunk, grinning up at him as you shut it, concealing your deception. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, returning his kiss when he leaned in.

“So, Dean found a hunt,” Sam informed you, following you back out of the garage. “I was wondering if you wanted to join us?”

You glanced at him, a confused look on your face. “You’re asking me?”

“Well, you passed on the last two,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thought you might wanna go somewhere a little more exciting than the grocery store. It’s only a -” He frowned, reaching for your hand. “You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

Looking down, you stopped as he touched you, lifting your hand up to inspect the blood on your finger. “Oh,” you whispered, “I must have caught myself on something.”

“What were you doing down there anyway?” he asked, wiping the blood away.

“Er,” you scrambled for an excuse, smiling nervously, “I was looking for my spare charger. The other one bit the dust this morning.”

“It was working fine for me,” Sam muttered. Your heart thundered in your chest; he shrugged, smiling. “Maybe it’s the port on your phone. You want me to have a look at it?”

“That’d be great,” you replied, relief making your fingers shake. “What’s the hunt?”

“A milk run, honestly. One night at the most. If you don’t wanna -”

“No!” you interrupted, shaking your head, pressing a little closer. “It sounds great.”

One night away from home couldn’t hurt. You had to get back on the job sooner rather than later.

*****

In the time you’d taken away from hunting, even if it was only a few weeks, you’d missed the exhilaration. Okay, granted, the hunt was literally a spirit that was scaring elderly people into early graves and it was easily put down, but the success bolstered your spirits.

The night in the motel had had a similar effect on how much you appreciated your bed at the bunker.

Being in such close quarters had made it difficult to take your meds without being caught - you’d opted for hiding in the bathroom, which neither brother had questioned. But using the glucose meter wasn’t a possibility, seeing as you hadn’t had a chance to grab it from the trunk before you left.

It didn’t even cross your mind to check as soon as you got back. You were too focused on getting something else.

“Hey,” you murmured, sliding up behind Sam as he leaned over the trunk of the Impala, gathering your duffel and his. He turned his head when you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his back. “You wanna go grab a shower?”

“Was plannin’ on it,” Sam replied, smiling as he turned fully, forcing you to relinquish your hold.

“I meant together,” you purred, watching the way his eyes widened, his pupils dilating as his brain caught up with your suggestion.

“Oh,” he whispered, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. That sounds really good.”

“I’ll go warm the water up.” You pushed up, kissing him and practically bouncing off toward the bedroom to grab a couple of towels.

Sam didn’t take long to join you, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door, his eyes hungrily drinking you in as you stripped down. There was a fresh blossoming of bruises along your thigh where you’d taken a hit that night - a year ago, you wouldn’t have bruised so easily.

“You got hurt,” he traced his thumb over the tender flesh.

“Just a bruise,” you mumbled, pressing close against his still-clothed body. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” Pushing up onto tiptoes, you kissed him softly, catching his bottom lip between your teeth. “Get naked, Winchester.”

With a throaty groan, Sam nodded, pulling his shirt over his head. You stepped back, turning around to climb into the shower, moaning when the hot spray splashed over your sensitive skin. It felt like you were buzzing, on some sort of high from the hunt. When Sam got in behind you, you easily folded into his embrace.

His hands cupped your breasts, thumbing your nipples as the water covered you both - Sam turned you in his hold, his hands sliding down to your ass.

“Wanna make you cum,” he grinned, dropping to his knees, somewhat gracefully in the small space, “wanna hear you scream for me.”

You bit your bottom lip, spreading your thighs when his hands pressed against the insides. “Sam -”

“Sssh,” he ordered, teasing your slit with two fingers. “Lemme help you relax.” Your head hit the tiles behind you as his mouth sealed around your clit. The overwhelming sound of your blood thundering in your ears eclipsed the noise of the shower or even the drawn-out cry that bounced off of the curtain.

Sam was relentless, thrusting his fingers into you as he sucked on your sensitive bud, his groans vibrating against your thighs. Your head was swimming; you closed your eyes, gasping desperately as Sam took your entire weight. A shudder journeyed through you and when Sam’s fingertips pressed into the inside of your cunt, you felt something give in your belly.

Your legs shook and you cried out again, his name mixed in with half-a-dozen other vowels. Sam didn’t stop, licking you through the orgasm until he was satisfied he’d done the job.

When he got to his feet, you clutched at his arms, needing the stability of another human body. Your breathing came in short bursts and for a long few moments, you couldn’t open your eyes, leaning into Sam.

“You okay?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Hmmm,” you hummed back, “I’m good. Just… that was good.”

“Articulate.”

Placing one hand on his chest, you forced your eyes open, looking up at him. “God, you’re an ass sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Sam teased, grabbing for the soap. “How about you let me scrub your back?” You turned slowly, feeling the shake in your legs, dismissing it as the usual satisfaction Sam left you with. A dozy smile stretched your lips as Sam groaned, running his hand down over your ass. “I’ll make it quick.”

Giggling, you remained still as he washed you down, handing you the soap when he was done. You returned the favor, taking a few extra seconds to appreciate the way his muscles flexed underneath your touch. Sam turned around, looking down at you with a heavy gaze. His cock was hard, pressing into your belly.

“You okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

You smiled. “I’m good. Tired, but not  _ that _ tired.”

He smirked at that. “Didn’t think you would be.” 

Pushing him backward, you slipped past him to stand completely under the spray, rinsing the soap from your skin. Sam watched, waiting, unable to stop himself wrapping one hand around his dick, slowly stroking it as you finished rinsing and looked at him with a sly smirk.

“You’re such a perv,” you whispered, teasing him. With a little chuckle, Sam slid his hands over your hips, leaning in to kiss you, before switching places with you under the spray. “I’ll wait in the bedroom.”

You stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels from the rail. Wrapping it around your chest, you left the bathroom, padding down the hallway to the bedroom. Only a few feet before the door, you stopped, a sudden wave of dizziness forcing you to stick a hand out, catching your weight against the wall.

“Hey,” Dean called, spotting you through his open bedroom door. “You okay?” He sat up, dropping his book onto the bed.

“Fine,” you replied, giving him a shaky smile. “Just headrush.”

Dean didn’t look convinced - you straightened, swallowing around the lump in your throat as you took your hand off of the wall. Tossing your hair back, you grinned.

“Might wanna put some headphones in,” you quipped and Dean instantly grimaced, getting to his feet and striding to the door.

“Thanks for the warning.” The door shut and you relaxed, taking a deep breath. Behind you, you heard Sam getting out of the shower, the sound of the spray turning off making you panic. You scrambled to the bedroom, drying off quickly and ignoring the persistent dizziness.

Sam slipped in as you were towelling your hair, bent over with your back to the door. You didn’t hear it close and when you stood straight, your back came into contact with his chest. His hands cupped your breasts and you giggled, wiggling your ass against him.

“Where’s your towel?” you asked.

“Didn’t get my hair wet,” Sam murmured, pressing kisses along your shoulder. “Too impatient.”

“Impatient for what?”

He pried the towel from your fingers, dropping it to the floor. “For you.”

Your witty retort was cut off as he leaned in and kissed you, his big hands cradling your head, forcing you back a step. The kiss was deep, hard, full of want that made you forget your momentary lapse of balance.

Sam’s hands moved down, cupping your ass, groping and kneading as he pushed you back even further. Your calves hit the edge of the bed and you stumbled, dragging Sam down to the bed with you in a tangle of limbs.

His mouth caught one hard nipple and you moaned, running your fingers through his long thick locks. “Sam,” you tugged on his hair, pulling him up into another heated kiss, “don’t tease.”

“What do you want?” he growled, grinding his lower half against you, smirking irritably. “Want me to fuck you?”

Hooking your legs around his waist, you tipped your weight, forcing him to give way. The both of you rolled until Sam was underneath, your thighs pressed either side of his hips. “No,” you ground down, sliding your pussy along the length of his cock, “I want to ride you.”

You sat up straight, smiling down at him. Sam regarded you with dark eyes, his fingers spread wide over your thighs. When you lifted up, he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, digging his fingers into your soft flesh as he watched you take hold of his shaft and line him up.

Sinking down with a breathy moan, you only made it halfway before your body resisted and you shifted, leaning over Sam so you could move up and down with a little more control. “God, you’re fucking warm,” he murmured, his warm caressing your face.

You bit into your bottom lip when he filled you completely and you stopped, asscheeks flush with his thighs. Your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out Sam’s rumbling gasps as he tried to control himself.

“Y/N,” his fingers were coasting over your arms, “you with me?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, meeting his eyes, pressing your lips to his as you started to move. Sam’s concern was wiped away and he focused on you, running his hands over your body. You sat up straight, taking hold of his hands and guiding him to cup your breasts. “Touch me, Sam.”

He moaned, palming your tits, stroking his thumbs over your hard nipples. The tip of his cock was driving into your deepest spots with every rotation of your hips and you tipped your head back, closing your eyes.

“Gonna cum,” you panted, clenching around him. “Gonna -”

Pleasure uncurled in your belly, the pace of your movement faltering. Sam’s hands were on your thighs again, keeping up the movement but you were fast losing control. The intense fire in your veins made you sweat, your heart pounding harder and harder -

“Y/N?”

Sam had stopped moving. 

You opened your eyes, intending on asking what was wrong, but your vision was blurred and everything in the room seemed to be spinning. It felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest and when you tried to speak, all you managed was a gasp.

In an instant, Sam moved you, picking you up off his lap and settling you on the bed. “Y/N?” He was panicking and you wanted nothing more than to reassure him, but you felt like you were gonna hurl if you opened your mouth. 

His hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Your pupils are blown, baby,” he murmured, his thumbs gliding over your cheeks. “When did you last eat?”

Your shoulders wouldn’t answer with the shrug you’d intended. Sam frowned, smoothing hair back from your forehead. You were still sweating, suddenly weighed down with fatigue like you’d never known. “Gas’n’Sip,” you managed, voice croaky.

Sam’s expression went through a succession of changes before he released you, grabbing his pants. He disappeared out of the bedroom and you sobbed, curling in on yourself. Letting your eyes close, you tried not to think about the nausea in your belly or the way the room still seemed to spin, even in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Y/N.”

It felt like hours had passed since you’d closed your eyes. You opened them, looking up at Sam before your gaze dropped to the things in his hands.

Three granola bars, a juicebox and…

Your glucose meter.

“Here,” he murmured, passing you a granola bar. “I know it’s not much but you need to eat something.”

You nodded, taking the bar with shaking fingers. Sam sat down, placing the meter on the bed and holding up the juicebox.

“Want me to put the straw in for you?” He smiled as he said it, an attempt to lighten the mood, but you were already too miserable for it to matter.

Sam knew your secret and would undoubtedly be upset with you for not telling him. Now, more than ever, you felt stupid for ever hiding it from him in the first place. Your ridiculous sense of shame had only led you to further embarrassment.

The foil packet crunched between your fingers as you opened it, tearing off a chunk of the sticky, sugary snack. Sam watched like a hawk as you ate the small piece, waiting for you to finish the mouthful before he spoke again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

You glanced away, even more ashamed. “I was… I thought…” Swallowing, you closed your eyes. “I thought you’d think I was… I dunno. Fat or something.”

He stared at you, his expression indiscernible. “You’re crazy,” he scolded.

“I know!” You bit into the granola bar, glaring at the pillow, irritated with yourself. “How did you even find out?”

“You mean, aside from you suddenly going a funny shade of green and swaying on my dick?” Sam joked, smirking as you turned your glare on him. “I found some of the test strips in the garage a few days ago. You must of dropped them and when I went in your trunk -”

“You snooped,” you finished, swallowing the last piece of granola bar. 

“I snooped,” he admitted. “But only out of concern. I mean, if you found bloody strips on the floor…”

“I know,” you whispered, reaching for the juicebox. “I can do the straw myself.”

Sam smiled, handing the drink over. “You didn’t have to be embarrassed you know. Diabetes is common. Especially with diets like ours.” He arched an eyebrow, looking at you as you pierced the carton. “Is that why you suddenly turned all Gordon Ramsey on us?”

“Maybe,” you muttered, sucking on the straw.

He chuckled at that, holding up another granola bar. “You want another one?”

You nodded, taking it when he handed it over. The second bar disappeared as quickly as the first one and Sam handed you the third with an expectant look on his face. You took it, frowning when he picked up the meter and the lance. “What are you doing?”

“Hold out your hand.”

“I’m supposed to do it two hours after I eat,” you protested. “If I do it now, I know it’s gonna be low.” Sam looked dubious and you sighed, tearing open the last granola bar. “Google it if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” he muttered. “I’m just worried.”

You chewed thoughtfully, swallowing before you answered. “I had a pretty good handle on it until today.”

Sam sighed, placing the meter on the nightstand, getting back into bed and keeping his pants on. You finished the snack and the juicebox, tossing the trash into the bucket beside your bed. When you turned back, Sam was under the sheets, covered to mid-chest.

“You want me to put a movie on?” he asked.

Pouting, you looked down, suddenly very self-conscious. You shifted under the sheets, shaking your head. “I was kinda hoping we could carry on where we left off.”

He smiled, leaning into kiss you. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea and - well -” His cheeks turned red and he chuckled. “I sorta lost my moment.”

“Oh.”

“Hey,” he murmured, catching your chin with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Get some rest. Plenty of time for that later.”

“You know, giving up chocolate sucks,” you complained. “Don’t make me give up sex too. Sex won’t make me fat.” Your grumbling only made him smile wider.

“I’m not making you give up anything,” Sam laughed, pulling you against his larger body. You snuggled into him, enjoying the way he curled around you protectively. “Sleep.”

You closed your eyes, smiling as you settled in. “Spoilsport.”

*****

“Hold still,” Sam instructed, placing the tip of the lance against the pad of your index finger. You took a breath as he pressed the button and the tiny pinprick radiated pain for a brief second, blood welling up when he pulled away.

Picking up a testing strip, Sam scooped up the bead of blood with it, releasing your hand; you placed your bloody finger in your mouth, sucking it clean as you watched him slide the strip into the meter. Seconds passed and it beeped, giving you a good reading of 6.1.

“That’s good, right?” he asked and you nodded.

“That’s good,” you confirmed. “Normal for the morning.”

Sam grinned. “What do you say to breakfast?”

“Hmmm,” you mused, chewing the inside of your mouth, “I could go for strawberries. And cinnamon toast.”

He laughed, climbing off of the bed and tossing the used strip into the bin. You watched him thoughtfully, your hands folded in your lap. “You want coffee?”

“Wouldn’t mind some dick,” you muttered, low enough that Sam didn’t quite make out the words. He turned, frowning at you. “Some milk,” you lied, smiling. “Wouldn’t mind some milk.”

The look on his face told you that he didn’t believe you in the slightest but he didn’t say anything, giving you a lingering stare before heading out of the bedroom. You giggled, dressing quickly and locating your sweatpants.

Sam was already starting up breakfast when you finally followed him into the kitchen, and Dean was sat at the table, a cup of black coffee steaming in front of him. “Mornin’,” he grunted, barely sparing you a glance.

“Hey,” you slid into the stool opposite him, “you sleep okay?”

“Like a baby,” he replied. “Although, Sam coulda been a bit quieter when he snuck out for snacks.” He tossed his brother a filthy look. “I’m a little disappointed though, Sam. Wasn’t even fifteen minutes after you closed the door that you were back out.”

Sam’s cheeks went red. “That wasn’t - I - Y/N wasn’t feeling well.”

Dean looked at you; you grinned sheepishly. “I had a hypoglycemic attack.”

“You had a what now?”

“My blood sugar got really low,” you explained. “I found out a couple weeks ago that I have diabetes.”

He blinked, glancing between you and Sam. “Diabetes?” Realization dawned on him. “Is that why you’ve been feeding me rabbit food?”

“I didn’t see you complaining when you were stuffing your face,” you retorted. “And you should be thanking me. Your bad diet is a gateway to diabetes.”

“She’s not wrong,” Sam called, voice muffled by the fridge door as he searched for the eggs.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - if bacon kills me, I win.” Dean sipped at his coffee, lifting his shoulders into a shrug. “Not that I’d say no to another round of that pie you made last week.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Hey, Jody called.”

The conversation moved on and you smiled as Sam delivered you a cup of coffee, smiling down at you. He knew damn well you hadn’t said ‘milk’, if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by. You grinned back at him, giving his ass an appreciative once over when he turned around.

Before long, the kitchen was filled with the smell of cinnamon toast and fresh coffee. Dean regaled you with stories about Sam’s odd appetite as a kid and Sam repeatedly told him to shut up, although he was smiling when he said it.

It was moments like these that reminded you of your stupid decision not to tell them. How could they not accept you for everything you were? Maybe you’d only been part of their story for a little while but there wasn’t anything you couldn’t bring to them. Okay, maybe certain things you only took to Sam but still -

You’d trusted these men with your life and they’d never let you down.

“Well, I’m gonna get on the road,” Dean announced.

“Huh?” You blinked at him, having completely missed most of the conversation in your musings. “On the road to where?”

“West Virginia,” Dean deadpanned before grinning. “Jody needs help on a case. I’m heading up to Sioux Falls for the weekend.”

Frowning, you glanced at Sam. “A case? Shouldn’t we -”

“Doesn’t need more than the one’a us,” Dean interrupted, getting to his feet. “You and Sam can have some  _ alone _ time,” he winked, “without disturbing anyone’s sleep.”

*****

The elder WInchester was gone by the afternoon, promising to return within a couple of days. Once you’d gotten rid of him, you’d set about your chores, groaning at the sheer amount of laundry you had to get through.

Sam found you just after two pm, walking through the library with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.

You straightened from where you’d been putting books away, giving him a dry look. “You don’t have to mother me, you know.”

“Hey, I’m not mothering you,” he defended, placing the food and drink on the table. “We’re a team. How many times you had to remind me to stop and eat?”

Humming, you walked over to the table, ignoring the sandwich and focusing on him, running your fingers down his chest. “What if I’m not hungry for a BLT?”

“Oh?” he caught your hand, tugging you a little closer. “What are you hungry for?”

“Something we didn’t get to finish,” you whispered huskily. “You think you could retrieve that moment?” Sam laughed as he closed the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours. Lifting your arms, you wrapped them around his neck, letting him hoist you up, your legs around his waist.

“Bedroom?” he asked.

“Bedroom.”

He didn’t ask any more questions, carrying you through the bunker hallways to the bedroom, not bothering to close the door since you had the place to yourselves. Dropping you to your feet, Sam tore your shirt over your head, pushing you toward the bed.

“I’m on top this time,” he grunted, dragging his own shirt off.

“You sure?” you teased, prompting him to tackle you onto the bed. You squealed, laughing when he buried his face between your breasts, groaning lavisciously. “You gonna tease me again?”

“Hmmm,” his mouth caught one nipple, sucking it hard enough to make you gasp, “thinkin’ about it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Sam chuckled, slowly moving down your body, his fingers catching in the hem of your sweatpants. “I gotta make sure you’re nice and wet for me,” he insisted. You moaned, squirming impatiently, lifting your ass so he could pull the fabric down. When he realized you were bare underneath, his face lit up and you giggled at his reaction.

“I didn’t wanna waste time,” you explained.

He smirked, pulling the sweatpants all the way off and tossing them across the room. Landing heavily back between your thighs, Sam nuzzled into your bare cunt, his hands cupping your ass. You were waiting for a lewd comment - Sam Winchester’s mouth could be the filthiest place on earth at times - but he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he thrust his tongue into your pussy, making you cry out in surprise. Your hips jerked up but Sam pinned you down, furiously fucking his tongue into you as you put up a half-assed struggle. When he withdrew his tongue, he immediately latched onto your clit, which only had you gasping and clutching the sheets so hard, you thought they might tear.

You came with a half-choked scream, even then Sam didn’t stop until you were sobbing and pushing him off, unable to take anymore. He got to his knees, pushing his pants down until he could fist his erection.

There wasn’t a moment for you to take a breath before he was pushing the thick head between your folds, easily finding your slick hole. His first thrust was sloppy, too driven by excitement; you lifted your legs to accommodate him, clutching his shoulders as he bent his head to kiss you.

On the second thrust, he filled you to the brim, holding himself deep. You gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his skin when he started to move. Sam was already shaking with need and you were still buzzing from your first climax, easily swayed into a second when the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot.

Tearing your mouth from his, you screamed as you came and Sam growled, burying his face in your throat. Your pussy clenched around him - he lost control, hips jerking furiously with his release. Your fingers twisted in his hair, both of you slowing to a stop, panting heavily.

A lazy kiss followed until Sam needed to move. He grabbed your sweatpants, handing them back to you and collapsing onto his side of the bed, pulling his own pants up. “Think I need another shower,” he mumbled, grinning over at you.

You laid on your back, legs bent over to one side, your sweats draped over your belly. “I think I want that sandwich.”


End file.
